One More Miracle, Sherlock
by tardisinpurgatory
Summary: Three years after the fall and John starts to get mysterious text messages from an unknown number.
1. The Aftermath

It had been three years since the incident and John Watson was still living in 221B Baker Street, sitting in his normal chair, drinking tea and reading the newspaper just like any other person in London that day. John remembered the 'incident day', the only name he could give it without choking up, oh too well. The phone call. The crowd. The person on the bike. Sherlock. The fall. He remembered everything as if it were only yesterday. John always thought of Sherlock, even when he didn't want to, he couldn't help it. He just missed him too much. Sometimes John would imagine Sherlock sitting on the chair he always sat on thinking about a case they were working on. He'd also brace himself for a severed head or a leg in the fridge only to be greeted by last night's leftovers. Sometimes, very rarely though, John would talk to Sherlock's arm chair as if nothing had happened and he was still alive. Unfortunately he soon realised the conversations and seeing Sherlock in the flat was all in his imagination. He also decided to start seeing his therapist again.

"John, how come you've started seeing me again? We both know it's been a while." She hadn't changed a bit in the three years he'd stopped seeing her. She asked the questions, he tried to answer them. Simple.

"I miss him. Sherlock. No matter what I do, I can't stop seeing him everywhere I go or thinking he'll just walk into the flat and disappear for the rest of the night and appear in the morning with a new brilliant idea. I just can't. I miss him too much and I don't know what to do."

"It seems you're under quite a lot of stress from the... accident with Mr Sherlock Holmes. Maybe if you took up a hobby? How's your job going?"

"I'm still a Doctor, only part time. I spend the rest of my time continuing Sherlock's work helping the police with investigtions. That's both my job and my hobby."

"Very well, this isn't something I normally suggest to people who miss someone who has died, but I'll make an exception since you obviously really cared about him. Go visit his grave. And simply talk to him. I've heard it helps people a lot, not so much let go, but to just have a moment alone with the actual person and not just something they're imagining. What do you say?"

"Fine. I'll give it a go." John got up, walked out into the street, signalled a taxi and headed straight to where Sherlock's grave was. It wasn't a long drive but John was terrified of what he might do or say when he's in front of 'it'.

He got to the graveyard and walked around looking at each and every grave to make sure he didn't miss Sherlock's but of course he knew exactly where it was. The grass had overgrown around the path, weeds were everywhere and more than half of the graves were unreadable. But of course, John found the one he was looking for. He sat down in front of it and started to talk. Not about anything in particular. How his day went, what work was like and how Mrs Hudson, Lestrade, Molly and Mycroft were.

"We all miss you, well Mycroft doesn't talk about you but we know he misses you too. He came over the flat last month for a cup of tea, he didn't talk but he looked sad and believe it or not, he looked lost. Molly talks even less now and when she does talk it's about work, she never goes near your things if she comes over. Lestrade always says 'If only he were here, he'd figure this out in a second. Good ol' Sherlock'. Yeah, we all miss you. I miss you. I... I just wish it never happened. I wish Moriarty didn't happen. I wish you'd come back. But I know that's impossible. You're gone and I need to accept that, don't I?" John reached into his pocket and dug out a tissue, he was crying again, just like every other time he talked about Sherlock. He patted the grass in front of him as a sort of 'farewell', stood up and decided to walk back to flat.

He stepped in the front door to be welcomed by Mrs Hudson, he smiled, waved and walked up the stairs to go straight to bed. He quickly checked his phone as he never took it with him. He had one unread text from an unknown number.

"Strange... Who could this be?" He opened the message to find a picture. It was a photo of the London Eye. John scrolled down to find a time and "Meet me tomorrow". It certainly was strange but it made John curious as to who got his number and who it actually was. He didn't mind if he had to go quite a way for it, he needed to know what this all meant. It's what Sherlock would have done. "All right then, tomorrow it is, unknown number." And with that John went to bed.

John awoke suddenly when he heard what sounded like a thousand knocks at the door. Curious as to who it was, he climbed out bed, pulled some decent pieces of clothing on and jogged to the door hoping they haven't left yet. It was Mycroft. He usually came to visit every now and then even if neither of them talked.

"Oh, hello Mycroft! What brings you here today?" John welcomed him in and invited him to sit in one of the chairs, he then rushed into the kitchen to make two cups of tea.

"Oh nothing much, just felt like popping in to see how you were." This was unusual even for Mycroft, he never just 'checked in', there was always a reason. "How are you then, John?"

"I'm doing well thank you, still working with Lestrade every now and then. You? Anything interesting happen in the big, fancy government?" Mycroft smiled, which happens very rarely now.

"I'm fine, the government is fine also. Now I assume it's crossed your mind that I have come here for a reason. There's a message going around whether it by letter, email or text. Have you received one recently that seemed a little strange to you?" John's eyes widened and he nearly choked on his tea. He did not say anything, he just pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed Mycroft the text message.

"Did you get the same place and time?" John's voice faltered, you could sense the fear in each word that came out of his mouth.

"No, we all got different one's on different days. It looks like your one is in only a few hours. Are you going?"

"Yeah I am. Have any others gone to their times? Or is mine the first of all of them?" John began to calm down, just a little.

"It seems like you're the first one. It doesn't help either that we can't trace the number. Any ideas as to who it could be?" It almost seemed as if Mycroft was asking for help.

"Not a clue, it can't one of Moriarty's men could it?" John spoke slowly and quietly when he mentioned Moriarty's name. If he said it too loud, he was scared it might trigger the memory of Sherlock.

"I doubt it. We've had no reports of any activity since Moriarty's death. Oh look at the time! Best be off, call me or Lestrade when you come back from the meeting. Bye." Mycroft showed himself to the door, waved goodbye and left. John got up from his chair, picked up the empty cups and plates and placed them in the sink. He then walked into the bedroom, pulled on some jeans, a cleaner shirt and a pair of shoes. Picking up his phone and keys, John left 221B and headed out for the mystery meet up.

The London Eye. This was the place where John supposed he should see someone looking shifty or something noticeable above the crowd. His pocket buzzed and lit up. Another text. John unlocked the phone, opened the unread message to find yet another picture and just one word. The picture was of a shop nearby. The word was 'observe'.

"Observe? Huh, weird. But all right, let's find this shop." John muttered under his breath. With his phone safely put back in his pocket, he roamed the streets for a good ten minutes before finding the shop he was looking for. It was an antique shop, full of ornaments, books with pages missing, chairs that can hardly stand up by themselves. The little bell at the top of the door chimed as John entered. He smiled courteously at the shop owner and began wondering around the shop not sure what he was supposed to be observing.

"Excuse me! John Watson?" It was the owner, a tall, grey haired man with huge glasses.

"Yes. Can I ask why you know me?"

"A man came in earlier, gave me a letter and asked if I could give it to John Watson. Here." He turned around and pulled out an envelope from a shelf. John ripped it open to find yet another picture and a note attached to it. The photo was of what looked like a house and an address was written on it. The note read 'Come find me, John". John smiled at the owner and ran out of the shop, down the street and occasionally falling into people. His eyes darted around corners until he found a sign with the street name, he followed the arrow and looked for the right building. He found it. John walked up the path leading to the front door, climbed a few steps and rang the doorbell. It took only a few seconds before it was answered but what looked like, a butler who welcomed John in immediately.

"Good afternoon sir, we've been expecting you. I hope your journey was safe. Do come in." He held out an arm to lead John into the main room.

"Thank you. Uh, who is this 'we' you spoke of. Who sent me the texts and the letter?" John's fists clenched, he needed to know who was doing this. The butler simply smiled.

"You'll find out soon enough, dear Watson." He showed John into yet another room and told him to sit down. John obeyed and sat down on the nearest seat available. "He will be with you shortly." John simply smiled and stared at the floor waiting for the person to emerge.

John had been waiting maybe fifteen or twenty minutes before a door creaked open. He could only see a faint outline as the other room must have been pitch black. A sigh came from the shadow, which slowly became a man as it was moving forward. He walked into the light and the man appeared fairly tall, blue eyes, black curly hair and was holding a mug of tea which he then placed on the coffee table. John looked up from the floor and immediately started to feel sick. It was impossible but he was there. Standing right in front of him.

"Hello John. It's nice to see you again."


	2. The Explanation

"Sher-"

"I know this may be hard for you take in but... I'm not dead. You must be angry. I deeply apologize." John still couldn't believe it. His best friend, his supposed to be dead best friend was standing in front of him saying sorry.

"How? Why? This can't be real!" John's eyes were filling with tears. "Three years, Sherlock. Three years! You left me on my own and you expect a sorry to suffice?" John stepped back, arms crossed and head down waiting for a response.

"I did it to save you. To save all of you. Moriarty was with me up there and he said if I didn't die, everyone I knew would die instead. He put a bullet in his mouth, but luckily before that I got Molly to sort a few things out so it wasn't me on the pavement covered in blood, I did jump but I landed safely. It's hard to explain the full details. What I'm trying to say is that I faked my death to save you all and I am deeply sorry for the pain it must have caused you." Sherlock walked a few steps forward and put a hand on John's tensed shoulder. John looked up, tears streaming down his face.

"You idiot. You complete and utter idiot." John pulled Sherlock into his arms and buried his face into Sherlock's shoulder. "I hate you so much." Sherlock smiled and wrapped his own arms around John.

"I'm sorry. I missed you so much, John." Even Sherlock was starting to tear up.

"Will you be coming back to the flat? It doesn't feel right without you there. Believe it or not, I miss the body parts being in the fridge and you shooting the wall." John muffled voice was barely audible but Sherlock just managed to hear it.

"I'll be coming back as soon as I've met with all the others. You can't tell them it was me sending the messages okay? Can you do that for me, John?"

"Mycroft told me to text him or Lestrade about who it was and why they're doing it. What should I say?" As they both separated, Sherlock sat down and settled into his usual thinking position, hands together and eyes closed.

"Hmmm, you could just tell them to wait until they go, maybe?"

"I could give it a go. I best be off back to the flat. You do realise when you come back Mrs Hudson is either going to hug you or hit you."

"Yeah I've all ready thought of that. Well I'll be seeing you soon, John." This time it was Sherlock that pulled John in for a hug, although it didn't last as long as the other one, something about it made it seem special.

"Goodbye then, Sherlock." They both smiled at each other. The butler reappeared and lead John out of the door and bid him farewell. John called a taxi over and grinned the entire way home.

Still with a smile on his face, John greeted Mrs Hudson and sprinted up stairs to be welcomed by Lestrade who's head shot up from the sound of a door.

"Oh! Sorry if I'm intruding but you've just come back from your meeting right?" Lestrade was standing in front of the mirror facing John.

"Yeah I am, why are you here?"

"Mycroft told me to come here because you were going to tell us who it was sending us all those messages."

"Oh. Yeah I remember that, unfortunately I can't tell you. You have to find out by yourself but don't worry it's completely safe. The worst that will happen is that you will punch him."

"What? Oh never mind, I'll go and tell everyone that it's safe to go. See you."

"Bye" The grin returned to John's face, he made himself a cup of tea and filed through some old cases just like the John Watson before the fall. He was happy, more than happy even. He couldn't wait for the day Sherlock could come home knowing that this time, he actually will.

The following day John's phone blew up with messages from Mycroft. Most of the messages were either "My brother's alive and you didn't tell me?" or "I can't believe he's back..." but John couldn't help but smile and laugh at the texts because he knew just how happy Mycroft was. He decided to go out, so grabbing his phone and keys he left the flat waving Mrs Hudson goodbye. John walked the busy London street, not sure where he was going to go. Maybe he's just wonder around and see what he can find to do. He walked up and down streets, across roads, occasionally going into shops to buy nothing, he fetched some lunch at a near by restaurant and chose to sit outside, it was a nice day out in London which made a change from the drizzly rain everyone normally has to put up with.

Ten minutes later John had finished his lunch, left the restaurant and was about to head back home when he got a text. Unknown number but he had an idea on who it was.

"Fancy coming over for a cup of tea? I've inviting everyone else over too. It'll be easier to explain to everyone if you were there also. Bring Mrs Hudson would you? -SH"

John replied with, "Love to, I'm on my way home now, I'll be there in about ten or fifteen minutes. See you in a bit." He locked his phone, stuffed it back in his jacket pocket and walked a five minute walk back to 221B.

"Hello, Mrs Hudson! Are you doing anything for the rest of the day? Because I planning on going somewhere, fancy coming too?" She gave him a suspicious look but agreed anyway.

"Well all right then, are you going to say where we're going?" She grabbed her coat and fluffed her hair in the mirror before facing John again.

"It's a surprise, you'll like it. Molly, Lestrade and Mycroft are going too. It'll be fun!" John smiled and lead her out the door and locked it behind himself. He called a taxi and they both clambered into it and John told the driver the address and off they went.

Mrs Hudson followed John up the steps to the house, still a bit cautious of what was going to happen inside. John knocked on the door and was welcomed by the butler again who ushered them inside. John saw Mycroft, Lestrade and Molly sitting down in various spaces. Mrs Hudson sat down next to Molly and John decided to sit next to Mycroft. They didn't have to wait long before the door opened once again. John had a big smile on his face just like last time, everyone must have been wondering why he was smiling until they saw who walked into the room to join them. There was gasps, tears, 'what the hell is going on' was mentioned a few times. Mrs Hudson looked as if she was about to faint. Mycroft had his usual displeased look on his face whenever Sherlock appeared. Lestrade kind of just stared. Whereas John and Molly just smiled at each other because they knew what was going on.

"I know it's weird, impossible and a shock to the people who don't know. But I'm not dead. Surprise! Um, hopefully none of you will punch me or shout. But I faked my death so I could stop Moriarty's men from killing you all... It doesn't sound believable but it's true. It was either I killed myself and you lived or I didn't and you all got shot or murdered in some other way. Moriarty, as most of you will know, put a bullet through his head just before I jumped. But luckily, I asked Molly here to help me fake my own death to basically save you all. Yeah, that's all I wanted to say. And I am deeply sorry to everyone." The only person who moved out of their seat was Mrs Hudson who walked up to him crying, she didn't say anything, she just hugged him as a sign of 'welcome back'. He returned the hug and apologized over and over again to everyone. John stood up next and shifted towards Sherlock.

"So, you coming home now? You did say you would... Remember? I even cleaned the flat for you." They both laughed and Sherlock nodded, he then rushed off to go get his things. He came out twenty minutes later with a small suitcase and he was wearing his usual attire, collar up and scarf on just like three years ago.

"Let's go then." And they all filed out of the house one by one, there were two cars waiting for them so Sherlock, John and Mrs Hudson went in one car and Mycroft, Lestrade and Molly went in the other and they all parted ways.

Finally, everything was back to the way it used to be. More or less.


	3. The Day Out

"Ah home at last, I really have missed this place." Sherlock was running through the flat like an excited five year old who has just moved house. "Oh! You kept the skull! All the files of old cases, thank you for keeping all of these things, John!" Yes, he was definitely more excited than a five year old. John couldn't help but smile that his best friend was home and they could go back to solving crimes again just like the good old days.

"I couldn't convince myself to get rid of them, it just wouldn't have felt right if they weren't there." Of course he knew he was being soppy but he really couldn't ever get himself to pack everything into boxes and throw them out. While John was thinking this, Sherlock had wandered into his old bedroom, John followed and found him sprawled out on the bed and mumble how much he'd missed it. John laughed and sat on the end of the bed while Sherlock rolled onto his side to sit up and face him.

"I really have missed this place, I want you to know that for sure. I've really missed you too. I don't think I'll ever be able to say sorry enough for what I did."

"Hey don't worry, you're already forgiven. I forgave you the second I laid my eyes on you again. I was angry, yes. But I was so happy you were alive. Just don't ever leave me on my own ever again."

"I promise. Now are you going to give me a welcome home hug or what?" They chuckled and John rugby tackled Sherlock back onto the bed and they held each other in an embrace that felt like it could never end. Alas, they broke apart when Sherlock heard a knock at the door, he stood up, and strolled to the door.

"Don't get too excited, Lestrade sent me here to fetch you and tell you to come to his office. It's a case we're stuck on."

"Oh how lovely of you Anderson, but did you really need to speak? I can tell just by the fact that you're here that you're so stupid you need my help yet again. Seriously, how have you managed these past few years without me? I lot of criminals on the lose I suppose? I'll grab my coat, you can leave now." John had to suppress the urge to giggle at Sherlock's brilliant response. John grabbed his coat while Sherlock was already wearing his. They left 221B, got in a taxi and about five minutes later arrived at their destination.

"Ah! You're here! Feel free to look through the reports, interviews and other files to catch up on the case." Lestrade hadn't even raised his head to see who it was yet somehow he already knew. So Sherlock and John halved the files and looked through them together, occasionally swapping opinions, ideas, theories etc. Over the years John had gotten fairly good at deduction but not nearly as good as Sherlock was. Sherlock had even started accepting John's opinions on cases instead of just dismissing them because he knew they were wrong.

"Just like the good old days, eh?" John who had his nose buried in sheets of papers, looked up and nodded.

"Lestrade. I want to see the body."

"Oh yeah, if you want you can go see it now." Lestrade waved them off and they began their short journey to Molly.

"Oh, hello Sherlock... John. I suppose you're here for the body?" Still quiet, but at least she talked more than she did three years ago. Molly shuffled into another room and emerged with a large table with a large sheet over it.

"Hello Molly! Let's see. Male, late thirties, bruises on neck and arms, maybe a struggle was involved." Sherlock opened the victim's mouth, closed it again and moved on. "Hmm. I haven't done this in such a long time, it feels weird but good. Well, have you got any suspects at the moment?"

"Uh, yes. I have a copy of the files here." She handed them over with a shaking hand and Sherlock happily took them off her.

"Thank you!" His eyes skimmed through pages of suspects, evidence photos and anything else he came across. "No. No. No. Of course it wasn't her! No. Maybe. Definitely not. Okay, interview the brother again but this time I'll be there. Okay?" Sherlock waved goodbye and him and John left without another word.

"How do you know it was the brother?"

"I don't. He was the 'maybe' I said, so it could be the brother. It could not." This was a first for Sherlock, he was always sure. Was it because of the long time period of him being away from all this? It's made him a little rusty, so to speak? Maybe. John didn't care if Sherlock was right or wrong though, as long as Sherlock was happy solving crimes, so was he.

"All right then, what now? Back to Lestrade or back home?"

"Home. I'll text Lestrade that we'll be in tomorrow for the interview with the brother. Come on." He held the door open for John and they both had to jog to catch a taxi before it drove off. "What's for dinner?"

"Um, we could get a take away? All we have at the flat is bread and a couple of things in the cupboard. nothing exciting."

"That's it? That's are selection of the evening? Well, take away it is. Chippy?" John nodded at his suggestion and they got out at the sight of a fish and chip shop. They were in and out with food in less than five minutes and decided to walk the rest of the way back home with a bag of chips each. The front door creaked open as they stepped inside.

"Hello boys! I had to clean the flat because it was just a mess. Sherlock, you've been back how long? And your room looks as if a bomb hit it!" Sherlock stumbled over, gave her a hug which always made her forgive him.

"Ah, thank you Mrs Hudson. You really are wonderful, you know?" She blushed like she always did when someone complimented her. "Now we shall go upstairs and mess it up again!" Sherlock laughed and sprinted upstairs before she could get her hands on him.

"Give him a good kick would you, John?" They both laughed until Sherlock shouted down the stairs for John to come up. "Go on then! Can't keep him waiting." So John rushed up the stairs to follow Sherlock who was staring wide eyed at his phone.

"What is it? What's wrong?" There was something wrong and John knew it. Sherlock's hands were shaking, his eyes were watery, his skin so pale from fear. John has never actually witnessed Sherlock being afraid before, so this was all new to him.

"It's... Um. I don't know. I just got a text. Impossible."

"Calm down, people get texts all the time, don't feel too special." Sherlock showed John the text. John read out loud.

"I see you're still alive. I expect nothing else from the great Sherlock Holmes. Want to play again? You're little doctor can play too if he likes. I can't remember who won last time so I guess this will be a rematch. Bye bye." Now John's own eyes widened. "You don't think..."

"John, of I course I think it's him! It could only be him! Who else sends texts saying they want to play a game with us?" Sherlock had gone from fearing everything in the room to blind anger. He chucked the phone on the sofa and sulked off into his bedroom, leaving John standing in the middle of the flat confused about what just happened.

Morning came and Sherlock walked in to find John had slept on the sofa. He shuffled over in his pyjamas and dressing gown and poked John's shoulder to try and wake him. When that didn't work, he full on shook John's entire body which cause John to grumble and moan and roll over.

"JOHN! GET UP!"

"Ah, go away Sherlock. Sleep now. Awake later." John turned to face Sherlock, grinned and out of nowhere, he decided to hit Sherlock in the face with a cushion.

"Oh it's like that is it? Well. You just wait, I'll be right back." Sherlock stormed off into his bedroom only to reappear with his riding crop. Oh how he loved his riding crop. Normally it was used on dead bodies to see how their bruises formed with extreme force but he decided he might as well try to wake John up with it.

_WHACK!_

"Owh! What the bloody hell was that for?" John grabbed his side hoping it would subside the pain.

"Well if you had got up when I poked you, I wouldn't have needed to use this. Plus, you hit me with a pillow first. It's only fair."

"Go away. Or at least do something useful like make breakfast or a drink or something! Just let me wake up first." John stretched and yawned, nearly fell off the sofa and sat up. Still not fully awake he helped a very troubled Sherlock who was trying, and failing, to make beans on toast. He pushed Sherlock out of the way who hadn't even opened the can of beans and had burnt the toast already.

"Oh my god, you're useless at preparing food. Pass me the can opener, please. And get four slices of bread out." Sherlock obeyed to the order, he pulled out four slices of bread and handed them to John. He then scoured the kitchen for the can opener until John opened a draw and got it out for him.

"Like I said... You're useless at this." John opened the can of beans and as a short cut, put them in the microwave for two minutes. The toast was ready and John served the meal on two plates while Sherlock was looking in the fridge for any drinks. Diet coke cans which John bought from the shops a few days ago were in there so he picked them up and put them on the table. They ate and drank in silence until Sherlock decided to strike a conversation.

"What do you want to do today? Anything you haven't done in a while or something?"

"You know we're meant to interview the brother of the murder victim."

"Yes. But I can just text Lestrade for us to do it another time. Come on, the only thing we've done since I got back was work. We need excitement in out lives!"

"Oh trust me Sherlock, you've caused me enough excitement. But whatever, what do you suggest we do?" John pushed his chair away from the table and cleared up the plates before settling down on the chair again.

"We could go to the cinema, go for a walk, visit the library, the park looked fun too, I don't know. We could just go to dinner or something... Even though we've just ate, yeah let's not do dinner."

"Movies it is then. You text Lestrade while I clean the rest of the table and kitchen, all right?" A few minutes later they were both ready to go out. Keys, check. Phones, check. Coats, check. Everything was sorted so they headed out the door and down the street to look for the nearest cinema.

They were half way through the film when Sherlock got tired and bored of what they were watching so he decided to use John's shoulder as a suitable pillow. People gave them strange looks but to be honest, John didn't really care. Plus, Sherlock was keeping him warm so he was okay with his friend falling asleep on him for an hour or so.


	4. The Letter

It was morning in 221B and a mysterious figure was wandering around the flat, a hand gliding over surfaces but not quite touching them. The figure was wearing a grey suit, expensive. His hair combed back all neat and he was also chewing gum. He'd been in the flat only once before and it didn't exactly end well, or start well for that matter. He heard rustling in one of the bedrooms which was his cue to leave, but not before placing an envelope on the kitchen table. He then disappeared out of the flat without making a single sound.

John stretched, pulled the duvet off of him and clambered out of bed. He put on a light blue t-shirt and walked out into the living room. Running down the stairs to the front door, John collected the post and whatever else was there for him and Sherlock and climbed back up the stairs reading the post as he did so.

"Boring. Boring. Ugh. Boring. Better give to Sherlock. Boring. Oh, how... Well, boring." He put the the pile of letters on the chair and decided he'd better go and wake Sherlock up. But it seemed Sherlock had beaten him to it, he was awake all right. He was also clutching a wrinkled letter with one hand a torn envelope in the other.

"John..." Sherlock's voice was but a whisper.

"What is that you're holding? What does it say?" When Sherlock didn't answer, John moved forward a few steps and grabbed Sherlock's shoulder. He pulled Sherlock close and repeated what he said before.

"Sherlock. What does it say? Tell me!" But unfortunately, Sherlock had passed out in John's arms. "You are useless and you're an idiot. Surely the letter couldn't have been that bad." John picked Sherlock up carefully and carried him over to the sofa where he placed him on the many cushions and blankets. John then walked over to where Sherlock had dropped the letter and decided to read it himselfs.

'To Sherlock,

I can't wait to see you again. See, that wasn't me on the roof with you that day. No. It was but a look a like we picked up one night. He put a bullet in his mouth like we ordered him to do or else his entire family dies. He agreed and went through with it. Now back to the main point, I can't wait for us to meet again. It will be soon. Yes. Very soon. After all, I owe you. Sherlock. Goodbye for now.

Moriarty.

xxx'

"Oh my god..." John had to steady himself on the back of a chair. The man who had strapped him to a bomb. The very man who kills people for fun. He's back. Moriarty's back.

Sherlock put a hand on his pale white face which was dripping with sweat. He rubbed his brow and hauled himself up into a comfortable sitting position. His vision was blurred and he had a headache that made him nearly pass out again from the pain.

"John! Where are you?"

"I'm here Sherlock, don't worry." John scurried over from the kitchen and put a cold, damp towel on Sherlock's forehead. When he got a strange look from Sherlock, he simply replied with, "I am a doctor you know. I know what to do when someone passes out!" John then disappeared into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water which Sherlock obediently drank. Sherlock rested his head on John shoulder and gave out a heavy sigh.

"I don't know what to do. I don't know he's going to do. I don't know what we're going to do. I just don't know, John... I just don't." John shushed and told Sherlock that would be okay. That nothing bad was going to happen and that he promised to take care of him. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's neck and buried his face into John's shoulder. John responded to this gesture by enclosing Sherlock's body in his arms.

"It'll be okay, I promise. I won't let anyone lay a finger on you."

"Thank you so much."

"Come on then, let's get you something to eat. What do you fancy?"

"Let's go out, I need a bit of fresh air I think." John agreed with him and they both separated so they could get dressed.

Outside of the flat John's phone vibrated and lit up in his pocket. Sherlock pointed it out which made John pull the phone out and read the text which had been sent by Mycroft.

"Mycroft wants to meet us."

"Of course Mycroft wants to meet us. Why does he want to meet us?"

"Apparently it's important. Well if it's about Moriarty then we've kind of beaten him to that piece of information." Sherlock nodded slowly and grabbed John's phone off of him and text back, 'It's Sherlock, go away.' He then stuffed the phone in his own coat pocket and walked off leaving John just standing there confused t what just happened. John grunted and followed Sherlock up the street.

"Sherlock! Hang on! Let me catch up!" Sherlock merely slowed down a couple of seconds before walking quickly again. When John was by his side he sped up the pace weaving in and out of groups of people while John was bumping in to them trying to keep up. "Where are we even going?"

"Somewhere... You'll know when you see it." John thought this over again and by the sound of Sherlock's voice, the place had to have an unhappy feel to it. He knew where it was.

"Why are we going... There?"

"Because he wants us to. I'm going to finish this once and for all. Moriarty's game is going to end and we will win." Sherlock's voice didn't stutter or shake and it didn't have a hint of fear like it did a few minutes ago, John on the other hand was in a bit of shock.

"What... No. You can't. I am not losing you again, Sherlock! I lost you once and I've only just got you back. You have no idea what's going to happen! Please... Don't go." John's pleading forced Sherlock to turn around and face his friend.

"It'll be okay. John, I have to do this or else he'll keep tormenting us and playing with our minds for as long as he still breathes. It has to stop."

"I don't want you getting killed!" It was Sherlock's turn to grab John by he shoulders. He pulled him close and wrapped his around John's neck.

"I won't get killed. I know how to beat him this time, nothing bad is going to happen. I promise. Now just let me do this." John hugged Sherlock back tightly, never wanting to let go. Reluctantly, John agreed to Sherlock's plan under one circumstance.

He was allowed to see Moriarty too.

Sherlock let out huge sigh of relief.

"Come on then. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

And off they went.


	5. The End

The door that led to the roof opened and a gust of cold air hit Sherlock and John's faces that left a stinging feeling in their skin. They scour the rooftop and come to the conclusion that their friend hadn't arrived yet or was hiding somehow. John walked over to the ledge where he saw Sherlock jump. He noticed something broken on the floor. Sherlock's old, now smashed phone. Sherlock peered over John's shoulder and swiped the phone out of John's hand. He turned away and fumbled with the phone, brushing dust off of it he tried to see if it would do anything. When it didn't, he threw it back on the ground.

"Aren't you going to keep it? It was your old phone after all..."

"It's broken, John. What do I want with a broken phone?" Sherlock nudged him away and continued to move swiftly from one point on the roof to another.

It must have been half an hour before they both got bored waiting around for someone that might not even show up.

"Can we go home now?" John looked and sounded tired, he was even sitting on the floor to prove that he was bored and wanted to go home.

"No. He'll come. He'll come. He has to." There was desperation in Sherlock's voice. Moriarty didn't have to come at all. Sherlock just wanted him to. He always did do reckless things to prove he was right. John grunted and said no more.

Fifteen minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Another half hour.

And then they heard footsteps. And then a voice.

"Sorry to keep you waiting boys! Places to be, people to... well... kill. How you been?" Ah yes, they both knew that voice oh too well. He never really talked normally, he always sort of sang what he wanted to say.

"Moriarty. You eventually showed up." There he was, in his usual expensive suit and tie. Phone in hand and a grin on his face. Sherlock walked forward, hands in pockets and eyes scanning Moriarty's face. "So, since we're both still alive what happens now? And what was that letter about?" Moriarty grimaced and faced away from them, although he quickly spun around again and this time he looked different.

"YOU KNOW WHAT I MEANT. Sherlock Holmes and Dr John Watson." John's fists were clenched. His was ready to kill Moriarty, if it was the last thing he did. He just wanted him out of his and Sherlock's lives.

"Tell me. Now. You said you couldn't wait for me to die. I'm guessing that's why you came. I'm not going to die. Trust me." Moriarty laughed and looked at Sherlock straight in the eye.

"I love it when people think that." Moriarty then became so close to Sherlock, they almost touched noses. "I thought you liked my jokes? No? Maybe you'll like this one!" Sherlock hadn't even begun to process what he might have meant before he felt a pain like no other in his chest. His breathing became short. His legs were going weak. A ringing had taking over in his ears and he still had no idea what was happening to him. John yelled and yelled but Moriarty was already running away.

"Sherlock... Oh god no. Sherlock! Please, don't do this. No. Don't leave. Keep your eyes open." John had already begun to cry and his hands were shaking. Sherlock placed a bloody hand on John's face. They were both crying now.

"I'm sorry. I never kept my promise. I promised that nothing bad would happen and that I'd never leave you again. I'm so, so sorry. John." John advised Sherlock not to speak but he knew nothing could help him. He was dying.

"Some doctor I am, I can't even save you. I just got you back and I couldn't take care of you. I'm the one who should be sorry."

"True. But at least you're my doctor." Sherlock's eyes began to close and he breathing became softer.

"No. No. Stop it, Sherlock. Don't go. I lov-" John was crying too much to finish his sentence but Sherlock smiled nonetheless and then he was gone.

At the grave once again, John was sitting down and just staring at the name engraved on the headstone. Sherlock Holmes. The world's only consulting detective had died. Moriarty was still on the run. Mycroft was distraught. Lestrade and Molly were quiet for weeks. Mrs Hudson spent time alone more often. John had a habit of talking to himself for hours, either he was silently thinking or talking to himself. He rarely left 221B. He was all alone and he hated it. He wanted Sherlock back. John Watson needed Sherlock Holmes. But now it really is impossible, Sherlock really was dead and there nothing John could do about it.

"I miss you. So much."

The End.


End file.
